


My Cake

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 04:54:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	My Cake

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

My Cake by Admarem

Slashx: 6 August 1998  
ArchiveX: 16 August 1998

My Cake  
By Admarem  
A vignette. :o)  
*Classification: Hi, my name is Admarem and I just wrote my first slash fic.  
*Rating: Oh, please.  
*Disclaimer: Not mine. They're Te's, 'til Satan tires of her. Didn't you read her fic?  
*Thank You: Kass, (G)nat, and Te, for reading and commenting and not laughing in my slash!virgin face.   
*Evil Grin: Dreamer, you leave for one measly week and look what happens!

* * *

MY CAKE  
By Admarem

I love running.

Even running after people.

I love the way the pounding of my legs tears the breath from my lungs. I love that I can feel my heart beat all over my body, my pulse throbbing so strongly I almost see it leaping, cartoon-style, from my neck.

I love --

Fuck.

I don't love= this=, staring up at a spinning haze of trees and blue and trying to breathe around the combined weight of my bruised self and the =thing=

//But that's no thing...//

on top of me, pressing me into the damp grass. For a moment the world is a sickening blur and I consider the option of retching from my prone position.

Nah.

Choking to death would be a lousy way to end a good chase.

//And the hunter becomes the hunted?//

Steel jerks into my neck, but it's not cold, it's...

//Oh, God//

...it's =warm.= Hot, even. The tip of it covers my still-jumping pulse. Warm. How could it be so

//don't think//

=warm=?

"You =are= getting old. How many times are we going to do this?"

The voice is familiar enough to cut through my fog.

"Your idea," I mutter, but it comes out as a gasp.

"Easy now," the voice says, and I could swear he's laughing. Fucker. "You don't want to hurt yourself."

"Fuck you." I almost sound normal.

"If only things were that simple," he sighs, and then his forearm is across my neck, and god, I thought I couldn't breathe before this but

//don't think//

my chest is hitching and I just want him the hell off me. Now. He is holding one of my arms; with the other I grab at the one that chokes me, tugging at it and 

//Oh, God//

it's hard and cold and unyielding. Inhuman.

"I should be flattered," its owner spits. "After all this time, everyone still wants the one-armed man. And I was afraid I was washed up."

Oh, the words I would say if I could talk. If I even =have= a larynx left after this.

I need to breathe. God, you don't appreciate oxygen until some arm, some fucking

//not even human//

bastard takes it away and watches, looking =satisfied=

//or is it something else?//

for crying out loud.

He shifts, still straddling me, and smirks. He is ten feet tall and he is all I see above me. "Mulder, was I wrong about you?"

He pauses as if he expects an answer. Bastard. I buck against the arm

//whatever the fuck it is//

but am rewarded with only a deeper burning in my lungs. Fuck.

"Oh, that's right. You're having some trouble speaking right now, aren't you? Pity. But looks like you're finding some alternate ways of communication."

He shifts again and I want to kill him, and I will kill him. Rage is pooling in me, boiling over, and all the air is full of pulse, thrumming against my skin, against the gun, against the denim heat pinning me to the ground.

And then mercy, mercy, sweet breath, the arm lifts just a whisper and I am reminded of that damned Bruckman.

//but if this is my auto-eroxic asphyxiation, I can do better//

"Mulder, are you =enjoying= this?"

"You fucking pervert," and it's more of a wheeze than a snarl but it'll have to do.

"Now, now, judge not lest ye...and all that shit. C'mon, Mulder. Looks like you're something of a glass house yourself, aren't you?"

He nudges against me. I am going to kill him. I am. "Or something," he amends, and his gaze flickers over me.

"Get off me, you son of a bitch." 

"What, so soon? You were just starting to enjoy yourself." He is panting heavy breaths and what excuse does =he= have

//those breaths, that flushed face, muscled thighs digging into mine, pinning//

breathing like that while he fucking chokes me?

His sweat is a swirl around me; I swear I can feel it invading my pores. The tang of it surrounds us both and I am trapped in its density, a warm weight and that's what's fogging my brain

//don't kid yourself//

and jellying my limbs and

"Mulder!"

The scream breaks the air. Breaks the hold. The gun jabs at my neck again.

"Don't answer that."

"Mulder, can you hear me?" She is screaming for me again, oh God, please find me

//not yet. Don't find me.//

already.

"Oh, she sounds anxious, Mulder. Maybe I should let you go." I think the bastard is laughing again, but his head is turned and I follow the cords of his neck, surprisingly graceful, the curves

//stop that//

long and gentle.

"Hey, do you have a thing for all your partners? Oh, and I was just starting to feel special, too."

I am really going to kill him. It may seem unlikely now with that fucking arm at my neck and a gun at my jaw, but I am going to. Really.

//or something//

All of a sudden he's not ten feet tall anymore; he's curved like a snake; he's in my face. I knew his eyes were green but I hadn't noticed their cloudiness, like badly cared-for gems. Or a child's dusty old marbles.

//I said stop it//

"Mulder, answer me!" Is she closer now? Her voice is coming from all around me, from somewhere higher than I am. There is dirt in my hair, gritty against my skull.

"Wel, you've got eclectic taste, anyway," he snorts. "Greedy bastard, aren't you? What's that expression again...oh yeah. Can't have your cake and eat it, too."

He leans in another inch, and I can smell the heat rising off his skin.

"Have some cake, buddy," he says, and the arm is loosened another notch, another whiff of air is allowed into my lungs.

And he's another inch closer, another inch warmer. I won't respond. I can't.

//you can//

God, he's too close; I can't stand it. And then I can breathe; the arm is gone; and he's closer.

"Mulder!"

"Ignore her," he says swiftly and as his mouth descends on mine I seize the chance and scream

//more//

"Scully!"

I know she hears.

"Fuck!" He sits up and jams the arm against my throat again. "You'll be sorry."

//I already am//

And she is there, small and furious, gun hand steady.

"Get the hell off him!"

//I love it when you scream//

"Agent Scully, glad you could join the party. Here, have a seat. Plenty of room." A nod indicates the rest of my body. Pervert.

//Good idea//

"I said get off him!"

Her face is flushed and contorted and she shouts as if it's a rusty skill. One she hasn't used in a while. Good.

And suddenly the weight is off me; the vanished, heated roughness 

//damn it//

of the cloth leaves me empty and cool.

"Hey, calm down, Scully. I didn't hurt him." He gives me an ugly

//but not really//

grin.

"Shut up!" She is screaming again, lustily and -- is she enjoying this? "Mulder, are you okay?"

//hardly//

"Yeah," I mutter and she stalks over to offer me a hand up. 

Stupid, stupid. 

It all happens too fast.

He's drawn his gun and now it's he giving orders, his voice more bitter than angry.

"Drop it." He's addressing Scully but somehow speaking only to me, and I am frozen between them.

She moves a step closer to me. Catches my eye.

//Mulder, where's your fucking gun?//

I'm a mind reader now.

"Drop it and get out of here," he says.

The gun hits the grass with a muffled thud. Scully is moving backward, not quite jogging, not walking either, her hand on my arm.

"Mulder, move!"

says one of them but I'm still frozen.

And he is watching us, watching me watching him as he holsters my gun. He looks satisfied again.

//or something//

"Wait!" but my voice is swallowed up in breath. And Scully is running, gripping my wrist, until we are too far to hear the pounding of my pulse. She stops and jerks me to face her, her eyes questioning. Accusing.

I stammer. "He has

//something//

information."

"Mulder, it's not worth it," her voice is soft and she is breathing hard, her upper lip beaded with sweat and distantly I wonder how it would taste

//salty//

and what she would do if I flicked my tongue against it, just once. Her face is so close. 

//too close//

She is breathing in my ear, in my throat. Too loud.

"Out of breath, huh?" I give her a smile, less than she deserves. "Not getting any younger, are you, Agent Scully?"

"I'm younger than =you=," she responds mock-defensively, tilting her head.

"Oh, excuses, excuses. Well, don't worry, Scully," I drag the words out. "=I= still find you attractive."

She is a step ahead of me now, heading for the car, but she turns back a moment. "I'm not worried," she tosses over her shoulder, casually. She almost smiles, more than I deserve.

My ears are full of breath and my thighs are cold and I watch her walk away and see him standing there and

//stop it//

I want my cake.

END

Author's Note: Okay, what's wrong with me? I was once a 'shipper, and now I'm more and more convinced that Mulder *wants* to love Scully but can't help loving Krycek...gotta stop watching "Piper Maru/Apocrypha," I guess. :o) Thanks for reading!


End file.
